


Ignite The Sky

by clawstoagunfight



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Human, Fireworks, First Kiss, Fourth of July, M/M, Party, Rooftops, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawstoagunfight/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles somehow ends up at the Annual Hale Fourth of July Barbecue and Fireworks Watching Party smoking, drinking, and watching the fireworks on the rooftop with none other than Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignite The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by B!
> 
> Basically I wanted a fic where Stiles and Derek smoked on a rooftop and the Fourth of July seemed like a good excuse.

Stiles doesn't know what he's doing at the Hale house. It's not like Cora and him are friends. In fact, he's only here at the Annual Hale Fourth of July Barbecue and Fireworks Watching Party because Isaac's been mooning at Cora for months and he and Scott just happened to be in the same vicinity as Isaac when Cora finally took the initiative to ask him to her family's party. He was one of the innocent bystanders that got roped into coming here because Cora read the shock on Isaac's face as uncertainty and extended the invitation to his friends...aka Scott and Stiles.

So Stiles is here, sneaking drinks with Scott from the flask he misappropriated from his father's liquor cabinet. (Thank god his dad doesn't actually touch the bottles inside often enough to know if anything's missing or if there's an ounce or, y'know, a half a bottle of Jack gone.) He's feeling just buzzed enough that he can find genuine humor in the fact that Isaac and Cora are skirting around each other in their piss poor attempts at flirtation, and now Scott is just drunk enough that he's fallen in love at first sight with a girl from another high school who looked at him and flashed her dimples. Stiles has finally convinced Scott to go talk to the girl and ask her to dance, or for her number, or to have sex with him, when the sun finally sets.

When Stiles leaves his friends in the backyard, Isaac is finally dancing with Cora and Scott somewhere off with the girl. He heads into the house with the intention of finding a bathroom, but really just hopes to find a room that he can finish drinking the rest of his flask in.  He hears the chatter of voices coming in through the kitchen, but the stairway in front of him is empty, so he takes them to the second floor.

Stiles has never been to the Hale house before and he doesn't really know if it’s okay to be up here but his head is a little fuzzy and he's feeling good so he doesn't really care. The hallway upstairs is empty on his first glance and he takes a look around, actually looking for the bathroom in case anyone finds him up here. He peeks through a few open doorways that lead to what looks to be a couple bedrooms, one to a study, and one that actually is the bathroom, but he keeps looking. He’s right about to look into the second from the last door at the end of the hall when he hears the closed door he just passed start to open, so he ducks inside of the room. He stands with his back to the wall next to the door and hears giggles as someone passes the room, and then another low voice laughing along with the giggles, but they keep moving.

Stiles doesn’t leave the room right away, though. This is the first room he’s come to that looks like someone semi-cool might actually inhabit it. The room is plunged into half-darkness, just the lamp on top of the desk by the window giving off any sort of light. The walls are a dark blue, just a few shades darker than his own at home, and the bookshelves that line the south wall are spilling over with novels. Stiles takes a step further into the room and sees the bed with the unmade sheets and the TV balancing atop the dresser.

There’s an open book lying face down on the desk and Stiles walks over to see what it is. The book is old, the spine cracked, pages just crinkled enough that he knows this book is well read. He’s about to pick up the battered copy of _As I Lay Dying_ when he hears a sound coming from outside of the open bedroom window. It sounds like something shifting over the shingles of the sloped roof.

Stiles heads over to the window and sticks his head out of it. It’s dark outside, sky lit only by the stars. He knows the fireworks will probably start soon. The town sets them off in a huge clearing up on the cliffs so that everyone can see them, but they never go off on time. Stiles blinks into the darkness for a few seconds before he moves until the upper half of his body is hanging out of the window. He looks to his left before he swivels himself to the right. He doesn’t see anything at all until a glow of red springs up a few feet away.

Someone’s out there, sitting on the roof. Stiles sees that the red is from the end of a lit cigarette. The embers cast warm light onto the face and Stiles sees that the person is a man, the cut of his cheekbones deepening when he drags on the filter, drawing smoke in for a second before he breathes it out, lets it curl around him, making strange patterns in the starlight. Stiles’ eyes are adjusting to the darkness enough that he sees the man turn to look at him. He gives Stiles a slow once over before he shifts a little, scooting over on the shingles, leaving the spot now open for Stiles.

Stiles doesn’t even think about it; he climbs out of the window and somehow finds he has just enough coordination left to not fall off of the roof and sits down next to the mystery guy. Stiles’ eyes are fully adjusted now and he can see that the man is bulky under his dark clothes. The stubble shading his jaw makes him look rugged and world weary when he drags on his cigarette again.

“Can I bum a smoke?” Stiles’ voice is rough from the liquor he’s been drinking for the better part of three hours and he clears his throat.

The man looks over at him, letting the smoke out through his nostrils as he raises a dark eyebrow at Stiles, “Something tells me you aren’t old enough.” His voice is low and gruff. Stiles is surprised he can hear it over the sounds from the party below.

Stiles lets out a humorless laugh and leans back on the shingles. “I’ll be eighteen in three months. What?—are you gonna tattle on me for wanting a cigarette?”

The man looks at Stiles considering for a moment before he leans forward enough to pull the black leather case and the lighter from his back pocket. He opens the case and offers Stiles one. Stiles takes it and the lighter and tries to light his cigarette, but the wind keeps knocking out the flame. “Here,” he says, leaning forward with his cigarette in his mouth to offer the end of it to Stiles. Stiles sets the lighter down and grips the cigarette between his lips and fingers, leaning over to press the end of it against the other man’s. Mystery guy sucks on the end of his smoke and the embers flare. Stiles takes a deep drag and pulls away, the end of his cigarette lit and casting its own warm glow around them.

Stiles watches as the other man leans back slowly until he’s reclining on his elbows, lets the smoke out of his mouth just as slowly, tilting his head up so his neck is one long line and he can exhale at the stars. Like that, Stiles can see that the man’s bulk is muscle; pure muscle, if the exposed line of skin at the top of his belt buckle is any indication of the rest of his body. Stiles sees the hint of abs before he forces himself to look away, the smoke burning in his lungs. He lets it out and feels something ease out of his body with the smoke.

He takes another few drags in silence. Eventually mystery guy finishes his smoke and puts the butt out on a shingle by his foot before he takes the ashen filter and puts it in his pocket. Stiles doesn’t take long to finish his own cigarette, the repetitive in-and-out of the smoke relaxing him, making his buzz from the alcohol stronger like it always does. Stiles doesn’t smoke often, generally only when he drinks, which seems to be a lot more often lately, what with all of the graduation parties that have thus far occupied his summer, but when he does, it relaxes him, stills his busy mind for a little while. He finishes the smoke and puts it out before he follows the other man’s lead and puts the filter in his pocket.

A hush is finally starting below them and Stiles wonders if the fireworks will start soon. “I’m glad you let me have a smoke, because if you disapprove of me smoking when I’m underage, you’ll probably definitely disapprove of me drinking.” Stiles punctuates this by slipping the flask from his pocket and uncapping it enough to take a rough swallow. The whiskey burns a little going down, is just a little bitter, but it’s something Stiles is used to, so he doesn’t mind. He sees the other man out of the corner of his eye, just looking at him, still reclined on his elbows with one leg stretched out and the other bent up at the knee. Stiles takes another sip before he holds the flask out to the man in offering.

He reaches out and takes the flask from Stiles, his fingers gently ghosting over Stiles’ when he pulls away. He sniffs at the uncapped top before he closes his eyes and takes a gulp, handing the flask back, “So who are you, anyway?”

The voice is a little gruffer now, from the smoke and the alcohol, and it makes Stiles shiver a little bit, “My name’s Stiles.” He says a little too fast and then takes another sip of alcohol, “So what about you, mysterious roof sitter?”

The man tilts his head in Stiles’ direction. “Derek,” he offers.

Stiles stills with the flask halfway to his lips. “Wait. Derek. Derek Hale?”

Derek lifts another dark eyebrow at Stiles and nods ever so slightly. Stiles feels his mouth hang open just a little. Derek Hale, in the flesh, is sitting next to him—Derek Hale, who offered Stiles one of his cigarettes and shared Stiles’ flask. Derek Hale, Beacon Hills’ very own mini-celebrity, who won a full ride baseball scholarship to one of the top schools in California. Derek Hale, who after four years at college, was drafted into the minors and blew out his knee sliding into home at the biggest game he’d ever played. It was a travesty, a tragedy, and everyone in their town had heard about it, knew who Derek was, knew that he’d taken his injury hard. Stiles had overheard Cora talking to some of her friends after graduation, telling them that Derek wasn’t there because he was still having a lot of pain, low mobility and all that.

Derek is looking at him now, though, like he _knows_ that Stiles knows who he is, so Stiles just takes another sip before he offers the flask to Derek again, “So…injuries suck, amirite? I broke my arm in two places a few years back in a car crash and it was awful. Sometimes my elbow still gives me trouble and that was two years ago. How’s the knee doing today? The roof is a good spot; stays warm from the sun for a long time and, y’know, it’s got that whole sloping thing so you don’t have to mess with pillows to get your leg comfy.”

Stiles looks over at Derek and sees him with the flask resting against his lips, looking back at him with his eyebrows drawn together. “Um,” Derek clears his throat, “it’s—yeah—it’s okay.” Derek’s looking at him in a way that makes Stiles feel a little self conscious, but then Derek shakes his head, “Sorry, it’s just. I think you’re one of the few people in this town that haven’t acted like they’re walking on eggshells around me when they talk about my injury. I mean, not even my family understands why I come out here. They think it must be more pain than what it’s worth. Don’t get me wrong, my family’s great, but it’s hard for them to understand sometimes, you know?”

Stiles lets out a sigh and leans back on his elbows, “Yeah. Yeah, I getcha.”

“How’d you break your arm?” Derek asks, handing the flask back.

Stiles takes a deep breath, “Well, my dad got hurt and was in the hospital. I was on my way to visit him and—uh—well, I had a slight panic attack and long story short ended up crashing into a tree. To be honest, I was more upset about my broken car than my broken arm. The irony of the night is that my dad ended up not being that hurt but he still had to stay the night at the hospital because of me.” Stiles laughs a little at the memory. He remembers his father being livid and then eating a burger for dinner that night just because Stiles was casted and hooked up to machines, unable to do anything about it.

“Right…Stiles. You’re the sheriff’s son.” Stiles looks at Derek again and nods. Derek shifts so that both of his legs are stretched out, “So, are you Cora’s friend?”

Stiles snorts, “More like I’m the friend of a friend of the guy that she wants to bone—” Derek makes something that sounds faintly like choking, “I mean, uh, no not really. We graduated together though, so.” Stiles shrugs and then stills, “Not that I don’t like your sister or anything. I mean, I don’t not like her. I just don’t really know her. I’m sure she’s a lovely person.”

Derek lets out a huff of soft laughter, “You’re really something else, you know that?”

Stiles makes a sound in the back of his throat, “I get that a lot, actually.”

The corners of Derek’s mouth twist into a smile and he opens his mouth to say something but the pop of a firework in the distance cuts him off. Stiles turns and sees the brightly colored design flash in the sky before more are screeching up from the ground to join it. Flashing, blooming, fading; flashing, blooming, fading.

It’s one of the better firework displays that Stiles has seen from the town and he finds himself rapt, enjoying the sounds and the sights from his rooftop vantage point. The colors echo over the treetops, over the cliffs. Stiles looks over at Derek after a while and watches the lights from above play over his face; reds, blues, yellows, greens, purples.

One explodes when he’s looking at Derek and Stiles sees the shimmer cast over Derek’s face, the way it lights up his eyes, before Derek moves his head to look at him, like he can feel Stiles’ eyes on him and Stiles quickly looks away, feeling the faint blush on his cheeks, hoping it’s still dark enough with the fireworks that Derek won’t be able to see.

They watch the fireworks for what feels like hours, watching them ignite the sky together. At some point Stiles moves his arms, his elbows getting stiff and his fingers brush against something. He looks down to see that Derek’s moved so that he’s lying down and his hip is next to Stiles’ hand. He’s about to sit up when he hears the rumble of Derek’s voice after a particularly loud crack, “You can lay down if you want. You can still see the fireworks. It’s a pretty comfortable roof.”

Stiles doesn’t look at him, even as he nods and leans back. He stretches his legs out and settles his shoulder next to Derek’s so that they are barely touching, but the warmth of his body heat is solid and tangible. The fireworks display is building in the sky, working its way to the big finale when Stiles feels Derek’s leg move against his. He thinks maybe Derek’s just shifting to get a little more comfortable, and he wonders if his knee’s hurting him. It takes a while longer for Stiles to realize that Derek’s leg and shoulder aren’t the only things touching him when he feels a tentative press of fingers over his open palm.

Stiles doesn’t look over, keeps watching the show, but when Derek’s fingers twine with his, he gives them a little squeeze and moves them to settle on his stomach, making Derek move a little closer to him, making him turn a little onto his side so that his wrist isn’t at an awkward angle. The fireworks are nearing their finale now, shooting more and more rockets into the sky until it is a frenzied kaleidoscope of colors and patterns and sounds that make Stiles feel like his heart is beating in time with the screech of fireworks cutting through the sky and the thundering explosion of color until it’s all coalesces into something otherworldly.

Stiles feels the finale like something tangible, like he himself is shooting through the sky, like the rooftop where he and Derek lie somehow makes them closer to the stars, closer to the fading dots of color, closer to the nearly deafening silence when the show finally ends.

Derek shifts next to him and Stiles turns his head just as Derek sits up on an elbow, slowly leaning over where Stiles is still lying. Stiles doesn’t breathe for a long moment, stays as still as he can. Derek slowly inches down, until all Stiles can see is Derek’s pale skin, his smiling lips, his bright eyes. Derek brings his lips to Stiles’ for a kiss. It’s soft and warm and easy—just a breath of lips touching—before Derek moves away slightly, smiling down at Stiles through the darkness.

“You’re something, Stiles.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any and all comments and/or criticisms are accepted and appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
